


do we become what we pretend to be?

by jimlafleur



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, finn is pretty ooc i apologize, half a sentence mention of violence, small mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:55:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2163192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jimlafleur/pseuds/jimlafleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Please, just don't make me look like an idiot," she begged. "My whole family thinks I’m dating an upperclassman from Harvard."</p><p>As she finished tying his bow and he straightened out his suit, a mock-hurt expression found its way onto Bellamy’s face. “What, you don’t think I can pull it off? Your words might wound me, Clarke, if I didn't know how much of an asshole your ex is. Also, does this mean I can finally call you babe?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	do we become what we pretend to be?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you anonymous Tumblr prompter, who requested Bellarke and Fake Relationship. :) Let me know if you like it!

"Please, just don't make me look like an idiot," she begged. "My whole family thinks I'm dating an upperclassman from Harvard."

As she finished tying his bow and he straightened out his suit, a mock-hurt expression found its way onto Bellamy’s face. “What, you don’t think I can pull it off? Your words might wound me, Clarke, if I didn't know how much of an asshole your ex is. Also, does this mean I can finally call you _babe_?”

Clarke huffed and wobbled around the hood of the car, her heels _clack_ ing as they made contact with the pavement. “Absolutely not,” she warned, shooting him a death glare as she reached through the passenger window for her purse. She held it under her arm and tossed her curls over her shoulder, desperately wishing she didn't look like she rushed together an outfit in an hour (which, she totally had.)

Bellamy met her halfway, holding his arm out for her to grab. “Shall we?” He offered a half-encouraging, half-mocking smile and she begrudgingly obliged, before freezing in her tracks.

“Wait!” She pulled on his arm. “Do I have anything in my teeth?”

He gave a low chuckle. “You're good, Princess.” And after she muttered _don't call me that either_ , they continued on.

It was a cool autumn afternoon, and the swirling November wind sent a trail of goose bumps down her neck. Clarke rubbed her arms, swallowed, and raised her head to look at the approaching church before them. People were milling about outside, laughing and talking, and as she watched, a sinking feeling settled inside her. She had never been a particularly anti-social person, and she wasn't afraid of small talk, but today Clarke was feeling abnormally unsure about how she would approach conversation. She had run over the story at least a hundred times in her head, as well as a few times out loud — _Hi, it’s so great to see you! This is my boyfriend, Bellamy. Yeah, he does go to Harvard, did my mom tell you?_ She could probably recite the words in her sleep. Nonetheless, she couldn't shake the feeling that something would go wrong, that she would slip and accidentally call him Finn, or that Bellamy himself would start acting like his normal self. The thought of that was _horrifying_.

Clarke’s eyes drifted to Bellamy. He was charming and handsome, but he wasn't who she was supposed to be linking arms with. It was supposed to be Finn, the _actual_ one attending Harvard, with the great hair and the wealthy family — that had been the plan all along. Or, at least since she’d gotten the invitation to Wells’ wedding 2 months ago. Clarke had gone on a few dates with Finn and she liked him, so she figured, why not make her parents happy? It was then they decided not to see other people, and Clarke asked him to go to the wedding with her. He accepted, and she got her mom excited about it for weeks, and it looked like everything was going to be great.

Until, of course, it wasn’t.

Two days ago, Clarke had arrived at Finn’s apartment a bit early, and found him on top of someone else, _in her own bed_. In her rage, she broke it off with Finn right away, not thinking for a second about how she buttered up her parents about this new kid for _two months_ , and that her childhood best-friend was getting married in _2 days_ and _he_ was _her_ date.

She was left dateless, boyfriend-less and clueless. She could never go back to Finn after what he'd done to her, she had too much honor for that, but she couldn't just show up in front of all her family and friends empty-handed. It was Octavia who thought of the life-saving idea in the end. Octavia, her roommate at UMASS and her best friend through high school, started up front by saying “I know you're not going to like this but it’s the only option you've got, so don't complain, got it?” Then Octavia proceeded to tell her brilliant idea.

“Bellamy — ” Octavia had said literally one word and Clarke was already sighing and shoving her face into her hands. Octavia slapped her over her head and continued. “ — Bellamy’s going to be home all weekend, he specifically told me how excited he was to meet some of his loser friends at some bar to get so wasted that the cops will get called.” Octavia snorted, but continued. “But that’s not happening. If I call him… and use my _sweetest, most innocent little-sister voice_ — ” she spoke in said voice, “ — then I can convince him to forget those plans and meet up with you… so that he can play the role of your hot rich boyfriend attending Harvard.”

Clarke’s mouth dropped to the floor, and laughed so hard she felt tears well up in her eyes. “Are you out of your _mind_? No offence Octavia, but your brother’s a condescending, self-serving —”

“Asshole, I know, but that doesn't mean he can't act. It’s only for that one night, Clarke, and then you can tell your parents later that it didn't work out and you're both going your separate ways. Besides, do you have a better idea?”

It took some convincing, but of course Bellamy had succumbed to his sister’s begging. The next day (yesterday), Clarke drove down into Connecticut where Bellamy, Wells, and her whole family lived, and where the wedding was taking place. She stopped by Bellamy’s place, dropped off the suit she brought him (since he insisted that he didn't own one), and went over all her terms and conditions. Barely listening, Bellamy ended up dismissing her with a cold stare and a harsh remark. Clarke left fuming, with a frown that spread over her whole face.

Now Clarke was walking up the steps of the church arm-in-arm with Bellamy, wiping away the wrinkles of her dress and grabbing a program as she entered. Clarke’s first instinct was to pull him into one of the back rows of seats, in an attempt to avoid confrontation for as long as possible, but as she hesitated, she remembered that she'd have to talk to her family _eventually_.

“You gonna sit down, or are we just gonna block the aisle for a little longer?” Bellamy urged, his voice tired. Clarke shot him a dirty look. “I don't think the bride would appreciate us stealing her limelight.” he continued.

She breathed in through her nose, and nodded her head as to boost her confidence. “I see my mother up there. You ready to introduce yourself, rich boy?” She never met his glance, through the corners of her lips turned up slightly and she strutted down the aisle, pulling him behind her.

Bellamy raised an eyebrow as he stumbled after her, and quickened his pace to meet her gait. “You're damn right I am,” he assured, though he could tell how nervous she was, even still. He held his head high, and hoping to be reassuring, he released her arm and slid his hand around her waist. He shoved his other hand into his pocket and, though she gave him a slightly alarmed and confused look, they obviously complimented each other amazingly. They walked in sync and Bellamy even felt her arm slowly land on his waist. Her grip was light, and her hand accidentally drifted across his back, but she quickly found her hold again.

“Got it?” He muttered, so that only she could hear.

“Got it,” She assured, trying to look excited, or at least less-wary than she already was. In no time at all they were at her mother’s side, and Abby Griffin, looking beautiful with her hair falling down in waves and her white teeth glistening, opened her arms for her daughter to sink into. A genuine smile grew on Clarke’s lips and she dropped her arm from around Bellamy’s waist, running into receive Abby’s hug. Bellamy let his hand trail across her back as she pulled away, then dropped it back by his side.

“Clarke, honey! It’s been so long since we last saw you!” Clarke laughed and smiled, but she couldn't help but tense up. Her mom spoke of _we_ as if her father was still here.

“I know. I missed you so much,” She replied, nearly breathless. She pulled away so that she could look Abby in the eyes, and her mother lifted her hands to cup her cheeks. Clarke laughed, but didn't try to pull away.

“Oh, but I'm sure you had other people to keep you company,” Abby smiled, and her head turned in Bellamy’s direction. Bellamy immediately widened his grin, and approached Abby. “What did you say his name was?” She whispered lowly to Clarke before Bellamy was upon her.

“I didn’t,” Clarke said, and slowly turned her body into Bellamy’s. _It’s a good thing I didn't either, otherwise we'd have to be calling him Finn all night._ Clarke almost laughed at the thought. Bellamy would not have been happy about that. She placed her hand on his shoulder and looked back at her mother. “Mom, this is my… boyfriend, Bellamy.”

A slow smirk grew on his lips. He wrapped his arm around her waist again, and held his other hand out to shake Abby’s. “It‘s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Griffin. You look absolutely breathtaking today, though I'm sure you're breathtaking every day.”

Clarke’s eyebrows raised, and she saw Abby do the same. Clarke was half expecting Bellamy to bend over and kiss her mother’s hand, but he released it and smiled back down at Clarke. She looked straight back at him, her mouth parted slightly. Her glance said, _do you really think you're being smart right now?_  His small eyebrow raise and slight shake of his head said, _what’s the worst that can go wrong_? She pursed her lips, and would have done something immature like hit him, but Abby was already pulling them to their seats in the front row. Clarke released her anger in her exhale and found her seat next to her _boyfriend_.

They were at the end of the row, near the outskirts of the room. They sat, and as the room slowly started to quiet down, Bellamy lifted his arm to rest on the top of the bench, his hand dangling off her shoulder and barely touching her skin. As the pastor started talking, Bellamy turned to meet her eyes. “How am I doing?”

She leaned towards him, speaking no louder than what was necessary. “You're very… confident.” She paused for a second. “Very… unlike Finn.”

Bellamy looked at her, his eyes slowly narrowing, but not looking away until a scoff left his lips. “Newsflash, Clarke, I’m not Finn. If you wanted him here, maybe you shouldn't have called it off so abruptly.” And she would have argued, but the bells were ringing, and the bride was walking down the aisle, and Bellamy wasn't paying any attention to anything. So she shivered when the pads of his fingers grazed her arm accidentally, and restlessly waited for the groom to kiss the bride.

* * *

Straight from the church they jumped in the car and followed the rest of the guests to the reception. It wasn't too far away, just a few turns down the road and they found the enormous white tent right away. But those few minutes that they were stuck in the car for felt like hours, and Clarke kept peeking over at Bellamy while she chewed her lip. He smiled and touched her when he had too, and for that she was thankful, but other than that he didn't speak two words to her. _Ever since I made that comment about Finn_ … but what was it about Finn that bugged him so much? Clarke didn't even know he knew Finn until late yesterday, and then his reaction hadn’t been so… repulsive. Despite how much Clarke wanted to know what the issue was, she had something more important to worry about, at least for a few more hours. She had to keep up the impression that she was hopelessly in love with him, and him with her. Bellamy probably wouldn't tell her anyway… but if she wanted to approach the subject afterwards, then she would.

There were multiple circular tables arranged under the tent, each with a gorgeous centerpiece of red chrysanthemums. Under the silver forks and knives were folded red napkins with white lace-trimmed edges. Every chair had a large ribbon tied around its back in a slightly darker shade than the color of the napkins. And every waiter and waitress that was waiting to bring them their meal was wearing a plain black-and-white tux, with a red bowtie around their neck. It was a simple presentation, but breathtaking all the same, and Clarke’s eyes raised. “Impressive,” she said, but Bellamy gave her only a short look for a few mere seconds, and no response at all. She huffed, and found her assigned seat with the rest of her family. It was at a table near the middle, but not too close as to feel cramped. Bellamy and Clarke took the outside seats, and he pulled out her chair for her, a perfect gentleman.

A few words were said about the newlyweds, and Clarke was happy to see Wells and his fiancé — no, his _wife_ , Harper was his wife now — laughing and holding hands and touching their noses together. They were so utterly in love, and she was glad for them. Wells deserved that happiness that he got from her. It was more than Clarke could say she gave him.

She bowed her head, and earned a look from Bellamy. “Keep yourself together, alright?” he muttered in a voice strongly indicating that he in fact did not care whether she kept it together or not, just so long as she didn't involve him in it.

Clarke sighed and wiped a piece of hair out of her eyes. “That shouldn't be hard,” she offered, and he nodded curtly. As she felt her stomach grumble her hand flew to her middle, and tried willing the noise to silence. To her surprise, the low sound died away, and the only one who caught it was Bellamy. He raised an eyebrow, and she whispered, “But if things continue how they are,” she spoke as the 5th person climbed up the stage, “and the food never comes out, I have no clue how I'll ever keep it together.” That earned her a small laugh — or, more accurately, a snort — from Bellamy. She smiled despite his falseness, and after a small pause, she felt his hand brush up against hers. But that was his only attempt of comfort and there was silence between them until they were served.

Clarke chose the seasoned cod, with a side of string beans and hushpuppies. Bellamy took the steak, cooked rare, with stuffing and cinnamon-and-sugar applesauce. It was nowhere near a classy meal, but Wells and Harper were pretty nonchalant people, and they didn't have the taste for anything too fancy. Clarke was grateful for that nonetheless; she wasn't sure she'd be able to stomach lamb or lobster or anything over the top. Her and Bellamy shared bits of their food, Clarke savoring his stuffing and Bellamy very much enjoying her hushpuppies. They actually spoke, though mostly only because Abby and Clarke’s cousins and aunts and second cousins and _everyone_ was around her, and they all believed Bellamy was rich and that he adored her. _Oh, if they only knew how wrong they are._

In a change of events, even when the table's attention turned elsewhere, Bellamy and Clarke continued to speak among themselves. It was mostly casual at first, Bellamy asking her how school was going and Clarke inquiring about his job. But then Bellamy got into a story about him and his sister when they were kids, and Clarke was laughing and drinking wine and Bellamy was grinning and running his fingers through his hair and it was hard to believe that an hour ago they were refusing to speak to each other.

Then, Bellamy asked the question she'd never expected from him. “How come you, um, froze in your spot after you first spoke with your mom today? She said something like, _we haven't seen you in so long,_  and you looked like a deer in headlights.”

Clarke froze, in the same manner that she had earlier today when she was with her mom. “Oh,” she breathed, and glanced up. Bellamy was watching her with curious eyes, and she looked away again. “Well…” she exhaled, not knowing exactly what she should say. “My mom, she just — sometimes she says _we_ , or _us_ , as if my dad was still around. As if he was still in the same room as us.”

Bellamy was clearly shocked and shoved his hands further down in his pockets. “Oh,” he managed, not pressing any further, but she knew what he was thinking. So she continued.

“My dad… he worked in a lab, in this huge institution called _the Ark_. Straight out of college he got a job there, and that’s where he met my mother. He was friends with everyone, he was super smart, he was on his way to becoming C.E.O., that’s how successful he was. But… eventually he got in so deep, he learned so much, that… that it became dangerous.” She had to pause and recollect herself. But she started again quickly. “He discovered that the institution had been administering a huge underground sales operation, a totally _illegal_ operation, and… he told us that he was going to take it to the police. But he underestimated his boss’ strength. They paid a gang to abduct him on his way home one night, and after shooting him through the skull, they dumped him in a lake to wrinkle and wither.” Her voice cracked, but she continued. “The police had no evidence so they called it suicide — but how could that _ever_ be suicide? It makes no sense. My father would _never_ … I know what happened. But no one believes me. Not even my mother.”

She had no clue why she had blurted that all out to him, at such an inappropriate time, but she supposed it was the wine, and the presence if her mother, that had made her so furious and desperate to get the story out. Even for someone like Bellamy to hear.

She didn't look at him, she didn't see his face, but she did hear him quietly whisper, “I believe you.”

Clarke grimaced and swallowed another gulp of wine. “That makes 2, then.”

“Who’s the other?”

“Your sister. You Blake’s are pitiful.” Bellamy smiled at that, though they both knew how untrue it was. At this point she dared look up at him, and saw how his dark hair stuck to his forehead and how, in the quickly dimming light, his freckles became less and less obvious. Then she decided, if there was ever a time to ask him, it was now. “What have you got against Finn?”

His features immediately hardened, and his wide eyes darkened. “No. I’m not nearly drunk enough for that.”

She slid her glass across the table. “Here you go.”

He pushed it back. “How will we get home if we're both inebriated?”

“Have you ever heard of something called _taxi service_ , Bellamy?”

Somehow, his glare grew sterner and more severe, if that was possible. “No,” he told her lowly, focusing on something on the opposite side of the room.

His stubbornness frustrated her. She pulled her chair out and sat on the edge of the seat, about to get up. But she changed her mind halfway, and grabbed her glass from in front of him. Clarke leaned forward, he leaned back; she looked him dead in the eye, he furrowed his brows nervously. “Fine, Bellamy. I just told you one of my biggest secrets _ever_ , one that I've only ever told your sister, but that’s fine. You can continue being a mysterious asshole if the truth is really so wounding towards your ego. I’m going to go talk to Wells and drink about 5 more glasses of this wine, because that’s what I'll need to get through the remainder of the evening. No one will notice that we're not together, half of the people here are smashed anyway. Bye.” She pulled back and tried lifting herself off her feet, but he grabbed her arm before she could get up.

“Wait,” he sighed, glancing down in defeat. She slumped back down in her chair, and lifted the glass to her lips. “Just… stay.” He muttered, his voice hoarse and quiet, but even over the loud music she understood him clearly.

Clarke watched him. She sat with her legs crossed and her head resting in her hands. She had her elbow propped up on the table and her other hand held her drink. Bellamy, on the contrary, was leaning forward with his hands interlocked and his elbows positioned on his knees. There was silence for a while as she watched him and he watched the floor, broken only by him as he cleared his throat. Finally he looked up at her and parted his lips as to speak, taking only a short breath before beginning.

“When I was growing up, I used to play soccer. My team was pretty good, and… and one year we were qualifying for state champions. We were up against this team from the other side of the state, this rich Metropolis city that could easily buy players onto the team. But either they were too stupid to think of that, or their price was too low, because their team sucked. It was a surprise that they even made it to the state. Everyone said ‘ _they had luck on their side_ ’ or some bullshit like that, but that wasn't the case. Anyway, it was the championship game, and we were doing well the first half, leading by a solid 2-0. But during halftime, when no one was paying attention, they got the caretakers to ‘freshen up the field’ and they ended up messing all around on our side, tearing up the grass and watering the dirt around the goal so our goalie wouldn't be able to stay on his feet very easily. Sure, they took their share of wipeouts too but the odds were clearly against us. And… Finn Collins, their ‘all-star’ forward — ” he couldn't hold back a snort “ — scored 4 goals all in the second half.” He scoffed. “The kid wasn't even good. In the first half he cried because he wanted a penalty, but he just did something stupid like trip over the ball. Long story short, we lost the championship, and they won because they were cheaters.” He glanced up at her. “He doesn’t only cheat in soccer either, apparently.” He took a long pause that made Clarke believe he was finished, but then he began again. “And as we were leaving the field, he — he tripped Octavia, so she scraped her knee and sprained her thumb. She definitely doesn't remember it, but not me. I don’t forget things like that.” And thus he finally met her glance, after somehow avoiding it the whole time he was speaking.

She watched him for a while, eyebrows raised, holding her glass up to her lips though not drinking from it. Bellamy dropped his head to his palms for a few seconds while muttering incoherently, until he looked up at her and shook his head. “I know, I know, I'm immature and I hold a stupid grudge and my story was in no way at _all_ comparable to yours, but… you asked.”

Clarke couldn't hold a smile back any longer. Bellamy had always seemed so butch and hardcore, he always seemed like he had no emotions and didn't know how to feel anything other than bitterness, but… after that story of his, she was beginning to think he was human after all. “That was —” she began, but was interrupted by the DJ.

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to dance! All you couples out there, come on up and dance like there’s no tomorrow!”

Small shouts of excitement were heard from all corners of the room, and Clarke slowly turned to face Bellamy. He seemed relieved for the break in the topic, and a grin spread across his face. “You ready to dance till you drop, babe?” He asked, standing up and holding his hand out for her to grab. She took it hesitantly and placed her glass on the table, only after taking a large gulp of it and swallowing it down whole. Then she let him pull her to her feet and guide her onto the dance floor.

“I told you not to call me that,” Clarke groaned, following feebly after him. She was beginning to feel a little loopy and tired; alcohol usually affected her body more than her mind, and dancing was the last thing she should be doing while so intoxicated. But Bellamy pulled her forcefully behind him, laughing almost maniacally, and she had no choice but to follow.

The first 2 or 3 songs (or 5, or 10, she couldn't count) were upbeat and fast, and Clarke was not in any proper state to be moving so violently. She held herself together for… one half of the first song, then Bellamy had to grip her tightly around the waist and lift her up to get her to move around. Sometimes Bellamy would get tired, so he'd drag her to the outsides of the dance floor and let her stand unmoving while he awkwardly bounced up and down on his heels. But once the next song started again, he regained his strength and pulled her back into the center, holding her under her armpits and throwing her around like a rag doll. (In all truthfulness, he was actually quite gentle, but in Clarke’s state of being everything felt violent.)

Then the slow songs began, and out of soreness and exhaustion, she fell against his chest immediately. She muttered a sloppy _sorry_ , and he replied with an easy _it’s alright_ , and rested his arms on her waist while she wrapped hers around his neck. Her head nuzzled into him, finding a comfortable place in the crook of his neck and staying there. She breathed in slowly through her nose and closed her eyes. She didn't have the power to keep them open any longer, and Clarke didn't think he was malicious enough to let her fall, were she to lose her step somehow. She felt confident in the strength of his arms, and settled for standing on his shoes so that he could guide her, and so that they could dance all around the room without her having to use much effort at all. Clarke almost felt like she was a young girl again, dancing with her father around their living room. She used to step on his shoes all the time… but now, with Bellamy, the fit was so much better. Their height difference was less.

She figured she would be able to tolerate his presence, his silence, the soft smell of his cologne that had not yet faded — she could tolerate it for a few more songs, just a _few_ more, nothing further. Then all would be well and they would be heading back home to her bed. _The night’s almost over_ , she realized. _I don't have to speak to him at all anymore, if I don't want to._ But then she remembered, and she opened her mouth to speak, using whatever strength she had left to put her thoughts into words.

“You're so ridiculous, holding a grudge against Finn like that.” She spoke slowly and in a hoarse voice, and despite how close Bellamy was he had to duck his head to catch her words. Then he laughed lowly, and if her eyes were open she bet she'd see him shake his head.

“Nah, I don't think so. I don't like cheaters,” he told her. “Finn crushed my 14-year-old heart, he scraped my sister’s knee, and he did you no good, either.” Clarke wearily opened her eyes, squinting in the flashing lights. She saw him looking over the crowd, at something beyond her line of sight, but when he spoke, he spoke to her. “Though I guess I do owe Finn something. If it weren't for him, I wouldn't have been able to spend this bizarre day with you, Princess.”

That made Clarke smile. A small smile, just a twinge of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. She waited for a few seconds before murmuring, “That’s sweet. But you've still gotta carry me all the back to the car. That might make the memory of this event less pleasurable.”

He chuckled. “We'll see.” 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how to write weddings. :)


End file.
